


What Are You Made Of? (What Do You Dress It Up In?)

by stoplightglow



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Podfic Welcome, frank thinks he should try that too, gerard wears makeup, mentions of past alcoholism/addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-19 02:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoplightglow/pseuds/stoplightglow
Summary: “How’d you learn this?” Frank hears himself saying, words spilling out just to distract himself. God, it’s so fucking itchy, and Gerard is takingforever.“What, makeup?” Gerard says, not really a question. “Do you mean, like, how I got the techniques, or how I started wearing it in the first place? Because technique-wise, I mostly just stole my mom’s magazines and did whatever they said was right.”“How you started wearing it in the first place, then.”The pencil freezes, and then Gerard takes half a step back so Frank can see his eyes. “I haven’t told a lot of people that story.”





	What Are You Made Of? (What Do You Dress It Up In?)

**Author's Note:**

> title from china beach by laura jane grace & the devouring mothers. thanks to m and [nat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corruptedkid) for beta.

Frank shifts under the hot press of Gerard’s hands on his hips, exposed now that he’s taken his shirt off. “C’mon. Hop up,” Gerard prompts.

Frank walks back against the bathroom counter but doesn’t push himself up onto it like he should. “How come?”

“Because you’re short.” Gerard rolls his eyes and pushes his body weight forward, a not-so-subtle encouragement. “And we can’t do this with a height difference.”

“We manage everything else just fine,” Frank grumbles under his breath, but he puts both hands on the counter and hoists himself up anyway. The marble is chilly and invasive through his jeans. Gerard makes a pleased noise and squeezes Frank’s knee distractedly, reaching down to grab his makeup bag from the cabinet below the sink. 

When the cabinet door swings shut with a  _ clang, _ Frank’s stomach swoops all the way down to the fucking floor. God, he’s ridiculous. This isn’t a big deal. He’s worn makeup before; he’s been close to Gerard before. Still, he can’t help the nerves. This feels like  _ more  _ — more than all the times he’s worn eyeliner onstage, more than dressing up for an interview, because now there’s no audience, now they’re off tour. There isn’t an excuse to cling to. It doesn’t help that they’re crammed together in the bathroom of Gerard’s fucking childhood home, everything around them familiar in a way Frank never thought it would be.

His stomach drops again at that thought alone, and he risks a look behind him at the mirror. A ghost stares back, ashen. It’s not from the fluorescents. 

“Don’t look until I’ve finished, okay?” There’s a zipping sound and some rustling as Gerard gets the bag open, and then he lifts his gaze to look seriously at Frank. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah.” Frank’s attempt at nonchalance comes out croaky. He has to clear his throat. “I trust you.”

“Good,” Gerard says, his painted lips tugging up in a smile. He rolls a brush between two fingers, picks up an eyeshadow palette, and stares intently at its colors through the clear lid. Frank sits there, chest tight. He only feels himself breathe again when Gerard finally flips the case open.

Frank is pretty thankful that he’s instructed to close his eyes first thing, because he has no idea where he would’ve looked given the option. Not at himself, that would make Gerard upset; not at Gerard, since — well, he’s pretty sure he couldn’t have handled it. 

The relief is short-lived, though, because after a few minutes of poking and prodding at Frank’s eyelids Gerard huffs out a hot breath and says, “Look up.” 

When Frank blinks his eyes open, he sees an eyeliner pencil in Gerard’s hand. He jerks back and bumps the mirror. “Don’t you dare poke me with that.”

Gerard purses his lips. “I know how to use eyeliner. You ever see me poke myself?”

“Yes.” They spend half their lives on a moving tour bus. It’s definitely happened. 

_ “Recently,” _ Gerard emphasizes. Just to be a dick, Frank nods. 

“Fuck you,” Gerard retorts without any real malice, then reaches up and pulls on the skin under Frank’s left eye with his finger. “Seriously, look up.”

Grudgingly, Frank complies. He can’t really say no, regardless of Gerard’s eyeliner-injury track record — not when this was his idea in the first place. He feels the pencil scratch at his waterline and channels all of his willpower into not blinking, even when his eyes start to water. 

“How’d you learn this?” he hears himself ask, words spilling out just to distract himself. The pencil keeps scraping along. God, it’s so fucking itchy, and Gerard is taking  _ forever. _

“What, makeup?” Gerard says, not really a question. “Do you mean, like, how I got the techniques, or how I started wearing it in the first place? Because technique-wise, I mostly just stole my mom’s magazines and did whatever they said was right.”

“How you started wearing it in the first place, then.” Frank’s pretty sure he already knows that story — the band blew up and kids started showing up at their gigs all of a sudden, so Gerard took the opportunity to make more of a stage persona and throw his middle finger in the face of masculinity, or whatever — but he’s willing to listen to it again. That’s certainly better than sitting here all weepy-eyed in silence.

The pencil freezes, and then Gerard takes half a step back so Frank can see his eyes. Frank wonders if Gerard’s actually finished, or if his concentration just snapped. He doesn’t turn around to check.

“I haven’t told a lot of people that story,” Gerard says, and there’s a couple of seconds of weird air between them until Gerard turns his attention back to his makeup bag and goes rummaging through it again.

“You gonna tell me?” 

Gerard doesn’t acknowledge the question, just stands up straight again and refocuses his gaze on Frank, eyes a little too low to make contact. He’s holding a tube of bright red lipstick.

“No mascara?” Frank half-jokes, ignoring the way his insides feel like they’ve just been dropped into a vat of acid.

“You don’t need it,” Gerard says, overly sincere in that way that’s always going to catch Frank off-guard. “You don’t really need this either, but.” His eyes dart to the side, and Frank knows he’s looking at his own face in the mirror, catching the reflection of dark purple lips and deep-socketed eyes. Almost like he’s searching for a reference, the same way he does when he’s drawing.

He’s fucking stunning. Frank opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“You can’t talk while I do this. Part your lips a little.” Gerard takes the lid off of the tube and twists it up. The color is intimidating, vibrant like fresh blood and sex, and Frank almost wants to ask him to go back and pick another one. Something less. Something he can stomach.

He takes a deep breath, but the nerves don’t settle. “You have to talk, then.”

Gerard hums low in his throat. They’re so close Frank can practically feel it. “Okay. Same question?”

Frank nods.

“I started wearing makeup before I knew you.” The lipstick’s waxy end glides along Frank’s lower lip, tugging at it a little. “Before I knew you the way I do now, at least. Definitely before the band.”

Frank almost interrupts, but he stops himself at the last moment. This isn’t the story he remembers. 

“I was — hmm.” Pausing and tilting his head, Gerard stares critically at Frank’s mouth, apparently deciding he’s fucked up. He licks the tip of his thumb and rubs it just below Frank’s lip to fix the mistake. Frank’s breath hitches. 

Gerard, of course, carries on like nothing happened. “I was still getting pretty fucked up back then, you know? Not as bad as, like…” He trails off, and Frank nods quickly, telling him he doesn’t have to say it out loud. Gerard gives him a grateful little smile and shakes his hair in front of his eyes. “Bad enough, though. Always trying to fucking forget something. I was having a really bad episode, that whole weekend, coming down off something I’d gotten from a guy the night before, and Elena came down into the basement and demanded I get up and go to the grocery store with her. We didn’t even fucking — Mikey had gone the day before. We didn’t need anything.”

Frank stays silent. For a long moment, Gerard just stares at him. Then, quietly, he says, “Here, like this,” and rubs his top and bottom lips together. Frank copies him to spread his lipstick, letting Gerard stall.

“She just wanted me to get out of the house, obviously,” Gerard continues finally. “But I didn’t — I was terrified. I was out of booze and pills and I literally couldn’t stand the thought of people seeing me sober.”

“Hey,” Frank cuts in, because the hunch of Gerard’s shoulders is getting dangerously low. He reaches out with his feet and wraps his legs around Gerard’s waist, pulling him into a clumsy sort of hug. “Hey. C’mere.”

“I’m here,” Gerard says, and for some reason that sends a shiver through Frank. Maybe Gerard feels it, because his arms tighten. “Elena got mad, but she didn’t yell. She never yelled, even when I fucking deserved it. She just turned and went back upstairs.”

“Did you follow her?” 

“No,” Gerard says. “But she came back down a few minutes later, and she was carrying a whole tub of makeup. Foundation, powders, mascara, lipsticks, eyeshadow, all of it. She told me that if I couldn’t stand people looking at me, I should cover up.”

Frank tucks his head into the crook of Gerard’s neck and breathes deep. “That worked?”

“Not the first time,” Gerard admits. “Eventually, though.”

“But now that you’re sober, what? It’s just for the significance?”

Gerard thinks for a second. “Partially. Back when all that was new, I needed it more than ever, but now it’s more — a reminder, I guess. It helps.”

Something warm and proud flushes through Frank all the way into his fingertips, and he brings their mouths closer instinctually. Gerard stops him before he can get there. “Not before you’ve seen it,” he murmurs. 

Frank takes that as his cue and turns to look at himself in the mirror. His mouth is vivid and satiny, but his eyes are dark and haunting — it feels like he’s staring at someone else, some young Hollywood starlet or a girl you’d see walking alone late at night on the wrong side of town. “I don't look like me.”

“Yeah, you do,” Gerard says, and the rawness in his voice makes Frank’s toes curl. He knows what comes next. He reaches for Gerard’s face with both hands and pulls him in as close as he can, pausing for a millisecond to feel Gerard’s breath ghost over his lips before pressing them together. Gerard tastes waxy and homey and not at all like booze, and Frank loves him for it, Frank loves him so fucking much it feels like it’s cutting him open. 

“You should let me do this more often,” Gerard says once they’ve pulled apart enough to speak, his mouth still a warm presence nearby. “Looks good.”

“Yeah?” Frank’s breathless, like he’s all of fourteen, like he’s never been kissed before. Maybe he hasn’t. Not the way Gerard does.

“Really,” Gerard says. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

Frank drops his face to Gerard’s neck and presses a kiss there, knowing it’ll leave a mark.


End file.
